


Five Turns Down the Branching Road

by credoimprobus



Category: Rabiosa - Shakira (Music Video)
Genre: 5 Things, F/F, Gen, Parallel Universes, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:51:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/credoimprobus/pseuds/credoimprobus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five alternate worlds, five alternate existences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Turns Down the Branching Road

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecarlysutra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecarlysutra/gifts).



(1)

She commands attention wherever she goes. On the stage, she holds all eyes captive, conversations trailed off and drinks forgotten as soon as she steps out. The feeling of power is heady, and she can never get enough of it.

She draws just as many eyes when she's off the clock, parting the crowd like the Red Sea when she sweeps into any club. She keeps her long, blonde tresses tucked away under a wig; she likes the illusion of anonymity, likes to pretend she's somebody else for the night. She builds a new character in her head each time she goes out and wears her like a suit, a six-hour alter ego that will never be used again.

When the morning comes, she sheds her other self and with her whatever sins she has accumulated, all stripped away as smoothly as her camouflage.

 

(2)

She's in love with the night and the city, with the glitz and the bustle and the music thrumming through her bones. She chases the thrill anywhere and everywhere it takes her, whirling from club to club and street to street to keep herself flying.

One night she drifts into a strip club in her endless search, and sees her own face gracing a dancer on the stage. It's surreal and mesmerising in equal amounts, and when her double leaves the stage, she finds herself slipping a bill to the manager.

There's surprise, even shock, on her doppelganger's face when the blonde walks into the small, private room, but it's quickly replaced by fascination that equals her own. _What's your name, sweetheart?_ the woman asks, genuine curiosity crackling through the words, but all she does is shake her head.

_"Let's not talk."_

So the blonde doesn't, and lets her body speak for her as she twirls and shimmies and grinds. The charge in the air between them is surely not just her, and she's breathless when the blonde winds to a stop, half hung over her with her palms flat against the backrest. The blonde studies her face for a long moment, and then bends forward and gives her a single, lingering kiss before she draws herself back and up.

_"Why don't you come again some time, Let's Not Talk?"_ she says and gives her a wink, before walking away with swaying hips.

She never goes back and she never sees the blonde again, but she keeps that night close in her heart forever, a perfect, shining, dreamlike memory.

 

(3)

She is a muse and a goddess, and she spreads rapture in all who see her.

She has had a million guises over the aeons, but her minions have remained the same through the rise and fall of empires: the revellers, the thrill seekers, the ones hungry for life and experiences.

She walks among them and they love her, never knowing what she truly is, and their devotion and adulation is as nectar to her. She feasts on it, gains strength from it, until she can contain no more; and then she pours it all back out into the adoring crowd, a flood of euphoria to lift up all who surround her. They will remember it for the rest of their lives, one night of incandescent, transcendent pleasure.

She has passed through their ranks for millennia, and she will pass through them for millennia more; for as long as mankind remains, her people will be there to cry for her.

 

(4)

She works hard and plays harder, burning her stress and anxiety out in a flash of excess and indulgence.

It's ironic that her sister is the moderate and responsible one, and she thinks it often when she comes in early to pick her up, early enough to catch her dance before her shift is done.

They grab a bite at an all-night diner, just to catch up on each other's day-to-day; it's almost become a ritual, a point of stability and comfort in the whirlwind that is both their lives. "You've dyed your hair again," her sister says, and she answers with "You've bleached yours," because she's not the only one of them who downplays their similarity. They haven't played the matching game since they hit fourteen.

She stops to promise, "I'll come see you and Teo soon," as they prepare to part ways again, and her sister's face lights up at the mention of her son.

 

(5)

Many tell her she takes research to extremes. She's gone to any length to prepare for a role, whether it's a two-week bender when she's cast as a party girl gone off the rails, or taking a job as the real deal to give her stripper character that extra touch of verisimilitude. It's simple, the reason she does it: she doesn't just want handed-down data points, she wants to _know_. There are always so many tiny, but vital details that consultants won't think to tell you, that those who've lived it take too much for granted to pay attention to.

The only person's observations that she will fully trust are her own.

It pays off as her career progresses; her third major feature role wins her two awards. The number that tell her she takes things too far is drastically reduced, after that, and it's sweet vindication.


End file.
